Wandering

Everyday I watch my girls sleep, in the sun, (most notably) on my chair, belly up on the floor, and I can’t help but wish we could switch places. Let them go off to work for me, while I wait patiently by the door for them to come home, with love and treats. It could just be that it’s Monday night, I haven’t done anything really productive, and I wish I could write it all off as another one of my many cat naps.

My partner has been working on his midterm all evening, editing away and describing scene perspectives. I’ve been reading, and writing about my reading, and poring over my shelves trying to choose a new book to read. We haven’t had a real dinner or really much water. Wandering through alarms and deadlines, I’m always hearing not to get trapped in that cycle but it’s so damn hard! Weekends come and go filled with nothing but rotting and maybe remembering to have scheduled meals. I miss exploring the city, taking trips to museums, wandering in a way that felt worthwhile.

I haven’t lost the ability or means to hop on the subway and take it somewhere fun, more like my brain just can’t push me off my ass to get up and go when I have the choice to move or relax. But I’ve finished a book - 1 more closer to 35 for the year, and I have plans to cook with friends over the weekend (channeling my inner Julie Powell). Little things help me feel that the spark of energy still exists in me. Choosing my next book is another little thing, like making tomorrow morning’s coffee and tuning in to News12 Brooklyn for the day’s weather.